


wreckage of stars

by llien



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Aggression, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Chronic Pain, Gen, Gen Work, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Past Abuse, Sibling Love, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Vanitas has a filthy mouth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2019-08-22 12:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16598015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/llien/pseuds/llien
Summary: They named it once, twice, three diagnoses, backtracked, turned around, and in the end Vanitas stopped caring what they called it or what it did. All he knew was that it hurt. It always hurt, and nothing ever seemed to help. Some days, he could almost ignore it, even distract himself enough to focus on living a life, but other days it was unbearable, excruciating, driving him to a violent brink where anything at all would be worth it to make it stop. His only saving grace was living with Ventus, who had the heart of a saint.Ventus had resigned himself to a life of taking care of Vanitas. No, that wasn't right, Ven wanted to be there for his brother. He loved Vanitas. That would never change. Not even when his knees hurt from a night spent scrubbing blood out from tile grout, not even when he couldn't stop counting all their knives, not even when he stared blankly as Vanitas bled words designed to hurt because the pain had become too much. It wasn't Vanitas' fault. It wasn't Ven's fault.He tried, again and again, to make himself believe this was alright.And then Sora came back into their life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After reading Vanitas' backstory, the chat collectively lost its mind and here I am, writing a modern au of Vanitas dealing with chronic pain. Please head the tags, this isn't going to gloss over the very real consequences of chronic pain, and what taking care of someone can do to you. I hope to always handle the topic with respect, and of course am open to criticism. 
> 
> This isn't just angsty fic. It's one about love and sacrifice and trying to help, and whether that's successful or not. Vanitas isn't defined solely by his pain, but it's definitely hard to live with it. Anyways, I love him and want him to be at peace and Nomura PLEASE touch on his arc in kh3, I'm begging.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The wreckage of stars — I built a world from this wreckage.”  
> -Friedrich Nietzsche

Ventus woke up slowly.

He used to wake up eager, half out the bed before his eyes were even open, but nowadays Ven tried to stay in a few seconds more, willing himself asleep just a bit longer.

It was a change he ignored, like most things swept under the rug with dirt, debris, and those unpalatable truths.

With a groan he sat up, scrubbing his face with his hand and then dragging it through his hair, knowing it left his hair at attention like a cockatiel’s feathers. Bleary eyed as the early morning light streamed in through his crooked blinds, Ven tried to remember the plans for today.

Class, as always. Morning— no, just the noon one, and maybe if he was lucky enough, he’d have an email canceling that class too. Though that begged the question of whether he _wanted_ to stay home, which had an answer he also didn’t want to look at too closely, sweeping it under the metaphorical rug.

A few errands to run. It was Wednesday, which meant they were running out of Vanitas’ usual stockpile. He’d make the trip to the convenience store after class. Maybe even swing by the grocery and get actual fruits. Vanitas liked those, but it was autumn now, so most of his favorite ones were out of season.

Cleaning, for sure. Their tiny apartment was more or less spotless aside from the clothes they threw around during the day. Ventus scrubbed it harder than the little orphan girls, and it sure as hell wasn’t willingly. But it was either that, or leave it be. Under the bathroom sink was a cup of toothbrushes worn flat, a bottle of hydrogen peroxide he replaced monthly if he was lucky, and bleach. At the supermarkets he stared at the scrubbing brushes specifically meant for getting dirt and stains out of grout, but buying them felt too much like admitting defeat.

He sighed and knew he was just procrastinating. It seemed like every day it was harder and harder to move forward. Delaying the inevitable was an endlessly enticing idea. Shoving the warm blankets back, he finally left his bed, stumbling as his body protested the idea of waking up. He frowned, trying to remember how long he’d slept. Last night had been a bad one, but those were so common Ventus could hardly believe it would still wear on him. He counted on his hands, since doing mental math was escaping him at the moment.

Five hours, he thought, maybe four if he didn’t count the time spent staring. He laughed at that, dryly and without humor. It sounded concerning that way, but it hadn’t been anything concerning, just the odd sensation of static in his mind as he stared in the darkness at his ceiling, listening for the silence in their home.

Shaking his head to dismiss the thought, Ven slowly made his way to the bathroom, glancing at the floor, the sink, the tub and determining them all spotless as he’d left it. He made quick work of his morning routine, burying his face in a towel a tad too long as he dried off.

It was a new day, he told himself firmly, meeting his eyes in the mirror. A new day, one where it could start out right and hopefully end right. God willing. It was a phrase he’d heard often growing up and it sprung into his mind now. Ventus wasn’t an especially devout person, hell he couldn’t even really tell you what he _did_ believe in, but God’s was a name he begged to frequently.

_God, oh God oh God oh God please be alright—_

He smiled, saw his familiar face smile back, and decided to start the day.

Vanitas loved to cook, but for the most part cooking fell to Ven, who wasn’t great at it and would frankly leave the entirety of it to Vanitas if given the choice. Breakfast was nearly always Ven’s affair, though on rare occasion Vanitas would rouse before Ven and surprise him with a meal consisting of entrees, side dishes, freshly squeezed juice, hell he might’ve even gone grocery shopping. But those were rare and few in between, and Ven couldn’t even remember the last time Vanitas had been up earlier than Ven, let alone in a good enough mood to go grocery shopping.

Ven didn’t like coffee, but Vanitas did, so he always started a pot before going to wake Van. The bubbling percolator was a soothing addition to the breath-held quiet morning. Water ran through the pipes in the wall as someone in another apartment started a shower maybe, and distantly he could make out the faint wood creaking of the floor above them.

He popped some toast in, rummaged in the fridge for eggs and other foodstuffs he set on the counter, and then headed to Vanitas’ room.

Vanitas liked to wake early, but he had difficulties actually escaping sleep. He’d once told Vanitas that he woke up as if he was in a fog, everything coming to him slowly, his body slow to respond. Ven wasn’t sure which was better — this, or the painfully alert way he used to jump from sleep.

Vanitas’ room was wildly different from Ven’s. His room was dark, with blackout curtains, and filled to the brim with things put away neatly. He had two bookshelves sagging under their burden, a desk nearly hidden under stacks of papers, a rug, rolled up mat, work-out equipment, and a much darker color scheme, as if light itself was offensive to him.

In the middle of the bed was a Vanitas-shaped lump, and Ventus approached with a brow cocked. He was curled up so tightly, Ventus wondered how he could breathe. Just from that pose alone though, Ven knew he’d had a flare up.

As Ven grew near, the lump shifted. “I’m awake,” Vanitas mumbled, voice rough.

“Since when?”

“...four, or something, I don’t fucking know.”

Ven sighed, and tried like he always did. “Do you want your meds?”

_“No.”_

He had choice words begging to be torn from his mouth with the force of a whip cracking, but he swallowed them down. “Alright. I made some coffee and I’ll finish breakfast. Do you want any?”

“...coffee.”

Ven held back a sigh. “Okay.”

Living together had seemed to have nothing but upsides, when Ven and Vanitas both decided to leave home. It meant being away, being closer to Ventus’ chosen university, being together, Ventus could help Vanitas, and Vanitas could keep an eye on Ven, who sometimes left his head in the clouds too long. Vanitas liked to cook, Ven liked to clean, they got along even when they didn’t. Having their own place seemed like a genius idea.

And then Ven started college.

Vanitas only got worse, and the longer it went on, the more it seemed like nothing would change. Ven still didn’t know what happened or why or what triggered it, but over the past two years Vanitas’ only grew more angry, more tired, more fatigued, more stressed, and more bitter.

It wasn’t Vanitas’ fault. It wasn’t Ventus’ fault.

He tried, again and again, to make himself believe this was alright.

 _No,_ he thought, gripping the counter edge back in the kitchen as he cooked. _No, it’s not him, it’s me. Every day Vanitas has to endure that pain, the fog, the hate he has for it keeping him from doing what he wants. Why am I getting upset? How selfish can I get? He followed me to this city, where the doctors are shit and where he knows no one, just so I could go to college._

 _But,_ his mind whispered back, _look at what you’ve given up._

Resolutely, Ven refused to think more on it.

That was a closed topic. Had long since been closed. Had never even really been opened. It wasn’t a possibility, would never be one, and thinking on it would just make Ven sad.

He clapped his hands together and loudly announced, “Done!”

It was a trick his mom had taught him ages ago, when he couldn’t stop thinking about things. He didn’t know if there was any science behind it, but it still helped him, so he still did it.

With a bright smile, Ven made Vanitas’ coffee, humming as he resisted the urge to add more sugar. It’d be more mean than he intended it, since the sugar could cause a flare up, and sure Ven wanted to annoy Vanitas, but he didn’t want him crying in bed for hours because every muscle in his body seemed hellbent on burning alive.

With that cheerful thought, he finally began to start his day.

 

* * *

 

The front door closed behind Ven, and Van finally sighed.

The coffee was sitting on his bedside, and Van knew he should drink it because it’d at least help with the fog, but getting up to move required more effort than he could give, so he laid there, shifting through his thoughts.

Vanitas had always been a visual thinker, but more than that, experience helped him. However, when he was in a fog, he couldn’t even bring up the mental images that’d help him focus or navigate through it. It’d take too long to remember, or he’d forget why he was doing it, or what his goal was, or any number of frustrating things.

So, he’d stopped trying.

That was par for the course for most of Vanitas’ life. It wasn’t that he gave up with adversity, it was that sometimes he literally could not succeed, no matter the willpower or determination or self-sacrifice. Vanitas had ambitions that had been cruelly shut down before he’d even been born, except no one had told him and those dreams had lived unchecked for years before anyone realized they should’ve been plucked ages ago.

Vanitas was ambitious. Vanitas was sick. Vanitas was destructive. Vanitas was tired.

He curled in tighter, wishing the pain would stop, the fog would lift, that he was normal, that he could go to school, could function, could even wake up without lingering in a daze for hours.

_You’re just being lazy._

Those words hadn’t been initially in his voice, but years had distorted them, and with his muscles burning as if inflamed, Vanitas slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position. He could do it. There was nothing wrong with the muscles, the bones, the nerves themselves. They worked perfectly fine. Nothing looked wrong with them. He could use them.

He took a deep shaking breath, braced himself on his hands as he hovered over his bed. Exhaled slowly. Took another. And he did it again until his arms stopped trembling as much. He brought his knees forward, under him, then sat and straightened his back.

He hated it.

He hated everything.

He hated being weak, being in pain, suffering, being held back, being forever caged like animal in his own body, hated how much he hated it, hated all the bitterness, the resentment, the greed, the anger, how it burned inside him like wildfires, consuming everything and spitting foul smoke and embers that threatened to choke him from the inside out, spilling over until they formed hateful hurtful words and how he was forced to see his own pain reflected in blue eyes.

He hated Ven, for leaving, for being able to, for pursuing his dreams. He hated that hate. He hated himself.

He hated how even now, he couldn’t hold back his tears.

“Stop,” Vanitas hissed, bringing his hands up to his eyes and tilting his head back. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Nothing even happened. This isn’t even worse than usual. What the fuck is your problem?”

_You’re the problem (no I’m not) yes you are (what did I do?) you were born (so were they) but look at you._

Black hair, vivid eyes, all too striking.

_You look just like him._

“No I don’t,” Vanitas ignored the way his lips trembled, how the words shook even as he spoke them, how his throat ached, how sad he sounded. “I look like _him,_ and he’s got their eyes.”

_Is that really better?_

_(No.)_

_Then don’t you know what you should do?_

_(No—)_

_You know._

_(I can’t. I can’t lose. I won’t.)_

He thought he heard mocking laughter, but he knew what the reality of it was, and tried instead to calm himself. Carefully, with the delicacy of layering mille feuille, Vanitas slowly counted his breaths, his heartbeats, until they were back down to normal.

The pain was still there, the fog lingering, but at least the panic attack had subsided.

He wondered how much time he’d spent like that, but when he was in a fog time passed indiscriminately, and the blackout curtains were effective at their one single task. He reached for his coffee.

Lukewarm. Vanitas grimaced. Goddammit.

It was such a simple mild thing, but it nearly sent him spiraling again. It took several calming breaths and the fog finally lifting before he was calm, and then began Task 2.

Getting out of bed.

Some days, it wasn’t even a task. Some days, it took the effort Atlas needed to lift the sky. Some days, it wasn’t even accomplished. Today was somewhere between the first and second, and Vanitas was tired.

He knew what this was called, the being tired and lethargic and wanting nothing more than to sleep, but acknowledging it was the same as accepting defeat, and somewhere under all the hate and resentment, Vanitas thought something might still change.

Getting started was the difficult part. Now that he was up, he could accomplish things with less effort. He opened the curtains, cursed how the bright sunlight brought a sharp pang to his mind, and did his business in the restroom, scoffing at how fanatically clean Ventus kept it. Honestly, his brother probably had a disorder or something. Vanitas rarely had to clean, because Ven would always do it by the time Vanitas was even up.

Then he glanced at the mirror.

Of all his siblings, Vanitas stood out the most. The only one with the same hair color was Xion, but she was a story from a long time ago now, and even then she had their eyes.

If Ventus was asked to describe them, he’d call them honey gold.

Vanitas thought they looked piss-yellow

It wasn’t that he hated the color itself, it was that he hated what it meant. That he wasn’t blue eyed. That he didn’t take after their mother. That his hair was black as tar and his skin tanned where Ventus’ was fairer. That he looked like a amalgamation of everything undesirable. That he stuck out, when he wanted nothing more than to—

He slammed his hand hard into the counter-top and then cried out, dropping to his knees. It hurt more than it should because it was like every nerve ending had been cut in half and left exposed. He was a fucking idiot.

He was glad Ven wasn’t home, because if he’d heard that he would’ve come running as always, and Vanitas didn’t think he would’ve been able to see him _(whole, pain-free, moving, running, blue-eyed—)_ without lashing out.

It wasn’t Ven’s fault. It never had been. Yet, Vanitas came back to himself as he came down from the painful whiplash of anger and had to come to terms with what the look on Ven’s face meant.

It was Vanitas’ fault, like always.

And he hated that guilt. That he felt it, that he _should_ feel it. Hated Ven for making him feel guilty. Hated himself, because none of this was fair.

“Why do I even try,” he muttered, digging his forehead into the wood-grain of their sink cabinets, half collapsed against it. Maybe today would be a bad day after all, no matter what he did.

Then their doorbell rang.

Vanitas frowned.

Surely that wasn’t it. Neither of them brought people home, since Vanitas’ pain was flippant and did as it fucking pleased, and Ventus had this odd thing about people coming over anyways. Vanitas didn’t even _have_ friends to invite over, as his social life consisted of pretty much his brother. He dismissed it as a solicitor and went back to rhythmically rocking his head side to side, since it seemed to be helping with the growing headache he was developing.

_Ding-dong! Ding-dong!_

_What,_ Vanitas thought, with rising disbelief, _the fuck?_

_Ding-dong—ding-dong—ding-dong—ding-dong—ding-dong—ding-dong—ding-dong—ding-dong!_

“ _Shut the fuck up!”_ Vanitas snapped, loud enough that his head pounded in retaliation. “Ah, shit, fuck, _what?”_ He groaned, forcing himself to his feet. He wobbled unsteadily at the blood rush, then slowly made himself to the front door.

When he was a foot away, the bell went off again, and he yanked the door open with so much force it nearly escaped his grip and slammed into the wall.

“What the _fuck_ do you want?” Vanitas growled, ripping his gaze from head to toe than faltering, growing wide-eyed.

Blue eyes, brown wayward hair, and sun-kissed skin. Sora grinned at him with the force of the sun, and before Vanitas could wholly react, threw himself onto Vanitas as if he was a board in the water and Sora was drowning.

“Vanitas!” Sora cheered into his hair and neck, almost strangling him with his grasp. Vanitas warily lifted his hands out of reflex, hovering over Sora’s back. “Surprise!”

Thank fuck the fog had lifted, because the amount of racing Vanitas’ mind was doing right now would’ve overwhelmed him earlier.

He settled his hands on Sora’s back… then gripped his shirt and hauled him backwards. Sora stumbled and nearly fell, but Vanitas’ hold kept him still and close.

“Heh-heh,” Sora said, rubbing the back of his head. “I was kinda hoping for Ven, since you and surprises are, well—”

“Sora what the fuck are you doing here?” Vanitas wasn’t quite angry, but his disbelief tended to sound like it, so he didn’t blame Sora for partially wilting.

“Like that,” he finished in a mumble, but his good cheer was quickly recovered, and he gave Vanitas another cheeky grin. “I’m here for you two! To stay! Or something?”

Vanitas starred in abject disbelief.

“You came and found us,” Vanitas started, because they hadn’t even been in contact for the last 4 years, never mind having not seen each other for, what, fuck, nine years? “And...you’re planning on staying?”

Sora nodded, as if it was the perfect plan and he was expecting praise from it.

His blase response sent a flash of hot anger through Vanitas and he punched Sora in the shoulder.

 _“Ow!”_ Sora’s smile finally fell and he rubbed at his offended shoulder, glaring now. “Geez, can’t you even be happy seeing me before you go attacking?”

“You idiot,” Vanitas muttered, then dragged Sora back into a hug. “What if no one had been home? What if you got the wrong address? Do you ever _think?”_

“Uhm,” Sora mumbled into Vanitas’ shirt. “No?”

Vanitas scoffed a laugh, then drew back to really admire Sora. They were the spitting image of each other, save the hair and eye color, and while that should’ve remained true, it was still nice to see it.

Sora dimpled, and said simply, sweetly, “I missed you and Ven.”

Vanitas couldn’t say it back, but he hoped opening the door wide for Sora to come in spoke loud enough.

Maybe for once Ventus could come home looking forward to something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cute art from Pea of the boys!
>
>> some outfit designs  
> i might clean this up at a later time but if u like vani please read the fic theyre for, its so good<https://t.co/H594iot4ak> [pic.twitter.com/fxhpJNBI4c](https://t.co/fxhpJNBI4c)
>> 
>> — 🍏green apple flavored sugar spit slime🍏 (@Peatootin) [November 19, 2018](https://twitter.com/Peatootin/status/1064360336160104448?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd planned to have this out on Friday but being home for the holidays kept me busy. Managed to finish it while flying out though!
> 
> More setting up and establishing, but I hope you still find it interesting. Thank you for all the kudos, hits, ans bookmarks!!
> 
> “You have no one who has any sort of consideration for you. You have had patience and endurance, and what have they done for you? Half-killed you.”  
> -Virginia Woolf

Ventus slouched in his seat, pencil pressed firmly between his lips as the lecture went on. On either side of him students either paid attention or scrolled through their laptops and phones. Ventus himself preferred pencil and paper, being the more hands on type. His notebook was littered with notes and annotations as their professor lectured on theory.

He checked his phone, less for the time and more for any new notifications.

There was the one from Terra earlier, about meeting up sometime, one from Aqua reminding him of their study date, a few unimportant emails, and one from Vanitas.

His heart skipped a beat as a sickening anxiety took root, curling around his stomach with malicious glee. He thumbed the message open, reaching with his other to pluck his pencil free.

Vani (1:25pm): what time are you coming back

Ven felt a tense knot fall loose, and he replaced his phone in his pocket, returning his attention to the lecture. It wasn’t an important message so Vanitas could wait. He rapidly rocked the pencil side to side between his fingers so that the ends of it thwacked his open notebook. The noise was too loud though, and a student earnestly paying attention shot him a look over their shoulder, not meanly but definitely having caught the repetitive sound. Ven sent an apologetic smile and firmly set the pencil down.

Instead, he pulled a large loop of leather free from his pocket. He’d picked it up somewhere at some point, he couldn’t remember, and it made for a good outlet when he wanted to move his hands, winding it around or twisting it or playing cat’s cradle. He did that now, wrapping the worn-soft leather around his fingers as he stared blankly ahead.

He couldn’t concentrate and couldn’t even pin down why he couldn’t, and he elected not to think too hard on it. Class ended with him having missed roughly half the lecture, and he finally decided to reply to their messages.

Vanitas was surprisingly quick to reply.

Vani (2:10pm): buy chips

Ven raised a brow. Vanitas demanding something wasn’t unusual, but chips weren’t usually his thing. He shrugged it off though and left to find a nook he could curl up and study in. He never got any work done at home, because his inability to concentrate just got worse. It was easier to just leave school at school and home at home, hence why Aqua and Terra had never seen his place, despite their veiled hints that with so many years of friendship behind them, it kind of stung that Ven kept them out.

 _It’s not you two,_ Ven had said, sinking too deep in Aqua’s bean bag chairs with Aqua’s legs thrown over his as they watched a movie, Terra on his other side. _My brother’s just got this chronic thing, and it might give him a migraine having people over. The noise, you know?_

A half-truth, like all the other half-lies he’d told them. About his siblings and family and past and dreams and plans. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust them, because he did, but it was so much easier to just let those be with Vanitas alone, and not have to confront them elsewhere, everywhere, all the time. It made it easier to forget the things he didn’t want to think about, and easier to pretend that this was okay.

Because it was. _It was._ It was good.

He forced his wandering attention back to his astronomy work, and even though he loved the stars, he was growing to resent his major. But that was another thought swept under the rug.

“Ven?”

The tentative voice brought Ven back down to reality and he looked up from his slouched position to find Aqua staring at him with concern. All of a sudden, the background chatter of students gathering around the cafe on this floor assaulted his senses, not to mention the ache beginning in his lower back from curling up like he was.

Ven had been forced to apply to a number of prestigious universities with _names_ and _history_ that was important, and as a consequence he now lived on a campus so large it was easy to get lost… or to hide away.

Luckily (unluckily) Aqua knew him too well for him to stay hidden for long. He offered a lopsided grin and she huffed, cocking her hip to one side as her messenger bag swayed, fit to bust with all her history texts stuffed inside.

She made a shoo-ing motion with her hand and he pulled his knees up so they could share the window seat he’d been hogging. The windows were warm with late-summer heat, and the overly air conditioned building was a nice contrast to the warmth at his side. Aqua, in jeans and a crop-top, had opted to compromise with the wishy-washy weather by sporting a short jacket. Ven, who loved layers even at the height of summer, still had a good three on.

Aqua rested her elbow on Ven’s knees, chin cupped in her hand, staring at Ven with a cocked brow as she placed most of her weight on his shins.

“What?” Ven asked, mildly defensive. She’d caught him brooding, a habit he’d unfortunately picked up from Vanitas.

“You were wearing this face like someone had run over your dog,” Aqua said, eyes cutting to the side to observe the students either collapsed or studying on the various cafe tables around them. “What’s wrong? It’s too early in the semester for you to blame it on work this time,” she added, not particularly scathing, but definitely calling him out on it.

Ven winced and laughed a little, avoiding the possibility of meeting Aqua’s eyes by glancing out the window. It was still too early for the leaves to have started changing color, but they were on the cusp of autumn. It was Vani’s favorite season, and winter was Ven’s.

“I didn’t get much sleep last night,” Ven admitted, then, “stayed up too late playing the new Mario Kart game,” he lied. To really sell it, he whined, “ _Aquaaaa_ class was so boring today, and I hate theory. Have I said that before? Because I do.” He glanced at her beseechingly.

Aqua studied his face, and Ven knew she was weighing the benefit of accepting his lie, or pushing for the truth.

The problem with Aqua was that she was too smart. She caught him in his white lies or noticed when Vanitas had particularly bad days, though she didn’t know the source of why Ven in consequence acted off as well. But she _noticed,_ and that was more than Ven wanted. He didn’t want to worry his friends, or make them feel bad.

Visibly making the decision to trust him, Aqua snatched his homework from his lap, observing it and making a face. “I can’t believe you like _math_ more than just theory.”

This was an argument they’d had too many times to count and Ven was grateful for the chance to slip into normalcy. “It’s _physics_ and it’s totally normal! Who wants to learn about what some dusty old men said a hundred years ago?”

Aqua scowled and, quick as lightning, plucked her pen from behind her ear to jab his side with. _“I_ do, thank you very much.” Ven made a strange noise, a cross between a squeak and a manly groan of pain.

“That’s just because you can’t add,” Ven muttered when he’d regained some semblance of dignity, plucking his work free to lay back on the binder in his lap.

“Don’t confuse me with Terra,” Aqua said with a smile, and they shared a small laugh over that old private joke. Terra still couldn’t figure out tip without asking either Ven or Aqua. Hell, he even still texted them to ask. Then, she sighed. “I have class soon, but we’re going to talk.”

Her words carried a weight Ven didn’t miss, but he pretended to, glancing at his homework. “I didn’t forget Aqua! I even added it to my calendar. _‘Date with Aqua, Don’t Forget!’”_

She gave him a sad look. He wrote his name at the top of his work.

Then, with a gentleness that nearly brought tears to his eyes, she reached over and ran her fingers through his hair. It was a soothing gesture, and it reminded him of home. Not of the apartment, or here, or with her and Terra, but of open windows and green grass and scraped knees, laughter so loud it hurt and skin smelling of sun, fingers sticky with cookies and someone’s voice, calling them in.

It’d been a while since he’d thought of them, mostly because it hurt too much to remember.

He grasped her hand and tugged it down, but he held on, just so she’d know he wasn’t rejecting her. Squeezing, he said, “I’ll be okay. You worry too much. Gonna get gray hairs — like Terra.”

That made her laugh, breaking the sadness in her eyes. “Don’t say that around him,” she scolded, “he has such a complex about it.”

“He should,” Ven scoffed. “23 and going gray? That’s gotta be a record.”

She twisted her wrist, grabbed Ven’s hand to squeeze, then pulled away with a sigh so muted he barely heard it. “Alright, I’ve got class. If you love me, you’ll bring me a drink halfway through.”

He wagged his brows. “A drink or a _drink?”_

Aqua laughed again and swung her hip, momentum sending her bag into Ven’s shoulder and _holy shit that hurt, what does she have in there, a damn encyclopedia set?_

“Smartass,” she commented, then began walking backwards. “Don’t forget!” She said threateningly.

“I won’t!” He called after her. Aqua waved, then turned and hurried off, probably more late than she’d like to be. Ven kept up the grin until she disappeared down the stairs, then sagged in his seat.

He rubbed at his shoulder and finally allowed his small whine of _“Ow.”_

 

* * *

 

Sora, Vanitas was realizing, had never learned the concept of _personal space._

“Get. Off,” Vanitas ground out. He was trying to drift but with Sora hanging off of him, he couldn’t get the satisfaction of twisting his body to match the kart.

“If I get off you’re going to win!” Sora protested, leaning even heavier against Vanitas’ side.

“That’s the point!” Vanitas said incredulously.

Somehow, in all those years apart, he’d forgotten just how unreasonable and headstrong Sora could be. The worst part was, everyone liked Sora best, so they just _let him get away with it._

They all did that, even their parents, and it had clearly done Sora no good.

In the end Vanitas won, but only because he’d managed to plant his foot in Sora’s face, something that had netted him the title of cheater, but Vanitas was too busy basking in glory to care.

“Ven wouldn’t cheat,” Sora grumbled, arms crossed and legs stretched out on their coffee table.

“Then you’re not remembering him right,” Vanitas said, getting up as Bowser did his victory lap around the circuit. “Ven’s worse than I am.”

“He says the same thing about you,” Sora pointed out, wiggling around until he was watching Vanitas from the couch, arms folded across the top.

Vanitas scoffed. “Ven would say I’d commit murder if I’d pissed him off enough. You can’t take his word worth shit.” He rummaged in the cupboard for more coffee. He wasn’t used to talking for so long, and Sora was a pro at chatting someone’s ear off. It wasn’t that Vani didn’t enjoy Sora’s company or miss him, but it was fairly exhausting.

Besides, Sora hadn’t mentioned Vanitas’ pain yet, and if he’d either forgotten or didn’t know then Vani wasn’t going to remind him off it. As the coffee brewed he threw a careless _‘going to piss’_ and walked off to find some pain meds.

He rummaged in their medicine cabinet for the lower-grade pain killers and popped two, swallowing them dry as he stared at his reflection in the flawless mirror. Fuck, Ven seriously had a problem. Two guys living together shouldn’t have a spotless home. He wondered if Sora would notice, thought for a moment that it was asking too much of him, but then reminded himself that Sora could be eerily observant when you least wanted him to be.

Which meant he probably would notice Vanitas’ pain. _Fuck._

He kicked the toilet seat so it’d make a satisfying clang of porcelain falling back down, flushed, then walked back out.

Sora was engrossed in his phone, texting with his chin drowning in sofa cushion. Vanitas barely made out a _R—_ before Sora noticed and sent him a bright grin, lowering his phone. Was it out of manners or was Sora hiding something? Vanitas glanced at Sora’s filthy shoes on their cushions and scoffed. _Manners? As if._

“Get your shoes off before Ven has an aneurysm over stains or some shit,” Vanitas said, slapping Sora’s forehead as he passed. Sora whined and rubbed, muttering something Vanitas didn’t care to listen to.

Two thuds later, Sora said, “When’s Ven coming back?”

Vanitas grabbed his recently washed cup to refill. “Soon-ish. Why?”

“No reason,” Sora hedged. “Does there need to be one?”

“No.”

Sora hummed.

Vanitas had meant to wait until Ven came back, since Ven was much better at conning information out of people what with the blue eyes and blond hair, but Vanitas had also never heard of patience being a virtue. “Seriously, did you fail your classes or did mom kick you out?”

Sora scowled. “Mom didn’t kick me out and I didn’t fail. I just… took a break.”

Vanitas’ ire flared dangerously, a dark impulsive anger he’d never learned to control. _“A break?”_ Vanitas spat derisively. “What for?”

_Why?_

He could hear Sora shift on their couch, and Vanitas focused on preparing his coffee, resisting the urge to load up on sugar. He really wasn’t a fan of bitter things, truth be told — though he’d rather die than admit that to Ven — but tea never gave him that same kick of caffeine that he wanted.

“Well,” Sora said, dragging it out. “I just needed to.”

Vanitas contemplated this. It wasn’t really a terrible thing to take a break, and frankly, Vanitas normally wouldn’t have cared, but his recent frustrations were bleeding over.

It just wasn’t fair.

He took a sip. In the end, coffee was a bit of an acquired taste.

Vanitas had gotten used to it.

“You’re almost as scary as Kairi,” Sora muttered.

“Kairi?” Vanitas said the name like someone might say ‘I found _maggots_ in my chocolate.’

Sora either didn’t notice or was too excited to gush about his friend. “Kairi! Her and Riku are my friends!” Vanitas could almost hear the sunshine beams radiating off Sora’s grin, like metaphorical sparkles and twinkling sound effects.

He turned around and sure enough, Sora’s grin was wide enough to eclipse the sun.

The irritation faded. Not gone entirely, at least, not the root of it, but Vanitas felt fond, enough to hide the ugliness of the truth.

With a laugh and roll of his eyes, Vanitas indolently made his way to the sofa, gesturing with the hand holding his coffee in a sweeping movement.

“Go on then, tell me about your friends, you embarrassing dork.”

“At least I have some,” Sora said sing-song, swiping through his phone. He pulled up photos of a red head and, interestingly enough, someone with a head of silver hair.

Kairi was in a lot of college shots, with cheesy grins and peace signs. She was definitely a summer crush kind of girl, with sky blue eyes and glowing skin.

Riku was the third leg of their trio. His smiles were a bit more restrained, and he’d clearly gone through more phases than a moody teenager. Vanitas flicked Sora’s fingers away on a selfie of them smudged in dirt and exhausted at what looked like a disaster site. Riku’s hair was long and tied up, but strands had escaped over the course of a long day, and Sora had rolled up sleeves and worker’s gloves on.

“What’s this?” Vanitas asked curiously, glancing at whatever details he could find. He squinted at their matching shirts, a design of some sort printed on their left breast, but their poses made it difficult to see, with Riku kneeling and looking over his shoulder from his work and Sora bending over to fit the shot.

“Oh!” Sora said with some delight. “We were volunteering. We go every summer! It started because Riku wanted an impressive application or something and then I wanted to keep going. I liked it more than I thought,” he admitted, as if he’d protested it before.

“Huh,” Vanitas said, gaze stuck on Sora. He was more tanned there, freckles more prominent, hair lighter at the ends like he’d been in the sun too much. He was covered in a layer of dirt with a sheen of sweat, as was Riku, but they both looked happy.

“Kairi didn’t go with you?” Vanitas heard himself ask. His mind was filled with white noise. Something about this bothered Vanitas, but he couldn’t pin what.

Sora shook his head. “No, her family likes to do trips a lot, and then she has summer practice.”

Vanitas hummed noncommitally.

Then, Vani’s saving grace as always, Ven walked in. He stopped dead in the doorway as his eyes landed on Sora and Vanitas by the couch.

Vanitas watched in horror as Sora literally vaulted over the back of the sofa to tackle Ven with the loudest exclamation Vani had been forced to hear in ages.

Ven squawked and they fell into a heap on the floor, Sora’s laughter echoing down the apartment hall from the still open door.

 _“Sora!”_ Ven gasped, and Vanitas felt his heart swell. He hadn’t heard his brother sound so happy in what felt like _ages._

“Ven!” Sora said back, laughter breaking his voice. “Surprise!”

Ven freed his hands and grasped Sora’s face — and pulled his cheeks hard. “What are you _doing_ here?” Ven demanded in bewilderment. “Am I hallucinating?”

“Nuuu,” Sora whined, pinching Ven’s nose in retaliation. They devolved into wrestling and Vanitas snuck in to nab the grocery bag Ven had been holding, pawing through it. Chips for Sora, cigarettes for Vani, ice cream oddly enough, and Mentos. Clearly those were for Ven, and Vanitas wasted no time in tearing it open, pocketing the smokes for later.

The wrestling turned into a strength competition, and if Sora was anything like Vanitas, then the outcome was clear.

Sure enough, a minute later found Ven pinned with Sora holding his arm back. “Give?” Sora sang, grinning with triumph.

“I hate you,” Ven said into the floor. He made some more indignant sounds that Vanitas laughed heartily at from his perch on the sofa’s arm. _“Fine,_ I give,” he groused.

Sora let go and Ven tried to act with more dignity than he really had, sitting up and dusting himself off.

Vanitas cackled. “Can’t believe you got your ass handed to you by _Sora.”_

 _“Hey!”_ Sora said.

 _“He’s really strong,”_ Ven grumbled simultaneously.

Then, something truly disgusting happened. Ven looked at Sora and saw his baby blues or his sweet smile or something and promptly _melted,_ reaching to draw Sora into a hug as he muttered how much he’d missed him.

Vanitas gagged, cast his eyes skyward, and pretended to not feel relieved at the reappearance of Ven’s smile.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter than the first two, but at least it's something. 
> 
> perhaps, I am not broken,  
> I just need someone who understands when I say machine  
> I mean be patient with me. I mean, don’t be surprised  
> if you go to touch me & I’ve already left out the back window.  
> perhaps, someone snuck in one night & replaced my bones  
> with fire escapes & that’s why I understand the world best  
> as an exit.  
> — Brandon Melendez

Sora, it turns out, could actually cook.

Vanitas was blatantly amazed, peering over Sora’s shoulder suspiciously as he added spices and ingredients in a way Vanitas reluctantly agreed with. Sora was, however, ridiculously over the top for it. Vanitas would suspect him of performing for them if it didn’t feel strangely well-rehearsed. He really just… flipped bottles and did spins for no reason than to be flamboyant.

“Of everyone, I was sure you’d be the only one who couldn’t,” Ven mumbled around a spoonful of ice cream. He sat cross-legged on the bar stool, elbows bracing himself on the counter as he watched Sora cook and Vanitas hover like a vulture. His sleeves were pushed up from when he’d gone to wash his hands, and the defrosted ice from the pint left his palms and wrists still damp. Abandoned beside him was his wristband. “Well. You and Xion.”

Because Vanitas was basically breathing down Sora’s neck, he felt the slight tense Sora’s shoulders gave, a thrum of energy stringing the nerves taut in his shoulders, neck, unnoticeable from afar. With a controlled exhale Sora calmed down, adding a dash of pepper with a twirl to the chicken he was preparing.

“I learned on accident, kind of,” Sora said, wiping his hands off on the black apron he’d borrowed from Vani. Without his shoes, Sora was actually exactly Vanitas’ height, a factoid that galled him. Of course, they were siblings so it made sense, but somehow Sora had always seemed so much more childlike. In their 20s now, it was obvious Sora had lost his baby fat and had worked out as much as Vanitas did, though Vani suspected he’d never lose the  _ cute  _ qualifier.

“How do you learn anything on  _ accident?”  _ Vanitas demanded.

“It’s a funny story,” Sora moved from chopping board to pan, the slide of chicken into oil obscenely loud. He waited for the sizzling to calm down before speaking again. “I ended up working part time in a kitchen and a guy there was really struggling with chopping things so I was like, hey,  _ I  _ can chop things. I thought if I helped him do that, he could focus on other stuff, and then bit by bit I just… kinda learned. I’m not really good at it, but I wouldn’t die. Riku is  _ much  _ better and he never lets me forget it,” Sora tacked on, put out.

Vanitas huffed, immediately disinterested in this new addition. He thieved the wooden spatula from Sora and poked at the chicken breast, humming his displeasure despite not actually finding any fault with it.

Leaving Vanitas too it, Sora turned to rest his back on the countertop, facing Ventus as he braced his hands on the edge. With a quick  _ whup  _ Sora hopped up to sit, crossing his ankles to bounce them. “Anyways, that should be my line! I can’t believe Vanitas actually likes to cook or do things other than tear pages out of books.”

“It was a stupid ass book with a dumbass title,” Vanitas muttered, shifting the chicken around to add some vegetables. They made a satisfying sizzle, punctuating his statement. 

“Riku?” Ven piped up, word slurred in chocolate.

The metaphorical sparkles and beaming came back full force. Vanitas rolled his eyes and took over for the rest of the meal as Sora regaled Ven with longer stories about Riku and Kairi, best friends he’d seemingly made shortly after they’d parted.

Ven hummed thoughtfully here and there, and, after the third story but before Sora could start the fourth, interjected a quick, “What about Roxas and Xion?”

The pause Sora took was just a half-moment too long, telling. Sora dropped his hands from where they’d painted his adventures midair, propping himself up. “Right, you and Roxas didn’t really keep in touch, huh?”

Vanitas stiffened, sending a dark glare over his shoulder at Ven at Sora’s hidden implication. He caught the look and held his hands up in defense, spoon hanging out his mouth. “I stopped telling you about Sora because you always got irritated!”

“Did  _ not.” _

“Did too.”

“You’re full of  _ shit,” _ Vanitas spat. His tone would’ve sounded too sharp on anyone else, but it was just how he spoke.

But Ven wasn’t intimidated or affected. He rolled his eyes and focused on Sora again. “So? How goes the second worst brother?”

“Roxas isn’t that bad and you know it,” Sora muttered, frowning, and Ven hastily moved to correct himself. Vanitas was just assuaged that he still held the top rank even after all these years. Maybe he’d gotten too soft in recent times, but he could always remedy that.

“You know that after Vanitas, Roxas was the one who made the most trouble. Remember when we thought that to make ice cream you were supposed to freeze milk and sugar mixed together?”

Sora stifled laughter, rocking back on his perch and hitting his head on the cabinets. “That wasn’t even Roxas! It was Xion! And then she disappeared like she always did when mom found the ice cube tray filled with milk. I can still remember that lecture we got.”

Vanitas paused in his stirring, holding a splayed hand to his chest as he perfectly affected their mother’s voice.  “How do you get a hundred on those tests of yours and then come home lacking all common sense? _ I don’t understand!” _

“Mom has the patience of a saint,” Ventus said around a mouthful of ice cream. Sora was busy laughing at Vanitas. 

“She had to!” Sora said. “Five of us and not a single one of us maybe thought  _ hey, ice cream doesn’t really taste like milk, does it?” _

“Hey,” Vanitas sniffed.  _ “I  _ knew you didn’t make ice cream from just milk.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” Sora asked, brow furrowing. Ven gave a long-suffering roll of his eyes to the heavens, already knowing the answer.

“If I said something every single time you all had a stupid idea, I wouldn’t have time to breathe,” Vanitas snickered. “Hey, hey, remember when Roxas convinced Sora that he wouldn’t ever get sick again if he ate the peaches from our neighbor’s yard?”

Ventus broke into a sputtering kind of laughter. “He-he,” more laughter, “he said, _ they’re magic peaches, Sora! Of course magic peaches keep you healthy. That’s why that old man won’t let us into his yard.  _ And Sora believed him!”

Vanitas cackled into the pan and Sora scowled above them. “It wasn’t funny! I swear that man almost knocked my head off when he came swinging that golf club.” If possible, Ventus and Vanitas laughed even harder. “Xion believed it too!”

“Yeah, but Xion didn’t get caught,” Vani pointed out, a hand hiding his laughter.

“Xion  _ never  _ got caught,” Ven said, laughter petering off into a scowl. “I swear she was the reason for half the stupid shit we did but she never got in trouble. What was up with that?”

Vanitas looked proud. “I taught her well.”

“You taught her shit!  _ You  _ got in the most trouble!”

Dinner went on in the same manner, but Vanitas wasn’t fooled. He knew Sora had derailed the conversation so Ventus, who was nostalgic at best and sentimental at worst, would linger in memories of their past. But he let it slide for now, being almost impressed by Sora even thinking to attempt subterfuge. Sora in the past wouldn’t have thought to hide anything, or have anything to hide in the first place.

It was a conversation for later, when Vanitas could interrogate him in peace without Ven’s bleeding heart getting in the way.

After dinner, an affair he and Ven hadn’t had together in a while too long to consider without becoming bitter, Vanitas’ meter began to run out. Sora didn’t seem to be making any attempts to leave, and Ven still had classes tomorrow. There was also the question of Sora’s backpack that looked suspiciously full.

But Vanitas didn’t comment, yet. He nursed a glass of water in an attempt to ward off the headache he could already feel coming as Ven and Sora lingered over emptied plates, voices more murmur than words. Vani knew this was something Ven desperately wanted, something Vani couldn’t—wouldn’t give. Affirmation and affection and comfort. Sora doled it out in spades, paltry tokens that Ven was too eager to accept, a sight that disgusted Vanitas.

Ven shouldn’t be like this. He wouldn’t have been. He was.

“So,” Ven said, a segue that Vanitas immediately recognized. He was in the kitchen lingering near the cool surface of the refrigerator as he drank, still close enough to hear but not enough to be roped into conversation, but he looked at them through his lashes and hair, watching Sora carefully. “You said you were planning on staying?”

Sora nodded, sitting cross-legged in their dining table chair as if he owned the place. “Yep! Not permanently, but I haven’t seen you guys in ages! I really missed you.”

Predictably, Ven melted. “Sora…”

But the problem with being blue-eyed and fair haired was that people tended to underestimate the person behind the angel features.

“You could’ve given us some warning,” Ven continued. Sora, who sat facing away from Vanitas, hunched in his chair at the rebuke. Ven’s voice had been gentle but still stern. “Vanitas particularly—”

_ No. He wouldn’t. _

_ “Ven,” _ Vanitas hissed, hands clenching tight around the glass that he had to place it down. His blood pressure shot up and the headache he’d been trying to avoid came a-ringing, hammer swinging down on hot iron with ruthless tenacity. He could almost hear the clangs reverberating in his ears with each pained throb. “Shut up.”

Ven shot him a dark look. “Really? You think that’s gonna work?”

Ven was a pro at keeping others out of the loop when he wanted to, a trait Vanitas had never been more grateful for than now.

He shoved the glass into the sink for Ven to clean later, ignoring Sora as he shifted in his seat to watch them both. “I don’t care. Shut the fuck up or I’m kicking him out.”

“It’s my place too,” Ven said, tone pitching low in warning. He’d never had much patience for Vanitas’ bitch fits. His head pounded in tune with every one of Ven’s words, and he cradled his temple, scowling and squeezing his eyes shut. “You can’t just kick him out!”

“The hell I can’t,” Vanitas seethed. “Just  _ shut up,”  _ he could barely hear himself, hear Ven, someone was running a shower next door, there were sirens in the far distance, Sora’s breathing was controlled and quiet and every single sound was amplified in his head. “Shut up!”

“Vanitas,” Ven seemed all at once unsurprised, disappointed, and annoyed. 

He brought his other and up, pressing his heels into his eyes and his fingertips digging into his hair, pulling hard to make his eyes smart. 

“Is it a headache?”

Suddenly Ventus was right in front of him, cool hands guiding Vanitas’ away from his face. Vanitas looked at him with watering eyes, the muscles in his neck and shoulders growing hot with the hint of incoming pain. Thankfully, or perhaps purposefully, Ven stood between Vani and Sora’s line of sight. 

Ventus sighed with the weight of every one of Vanitas failures on his back. “Go lay down. Sora can stay on the couch.”

It felt too much like losing. Vanitas shook his head but that sent a ruthless sting of pain so sharp it lanced straight down his neck to branch out across his shoulders, merging pain and heat and scalding unforgiving hammering. It made him dizzy with the onslaught, swaying on his feet even as he grabbed Ven’s forearm. 

Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck  _ he should’ve known this was coming! The moment when he drank more coffee, more caffeine than he should’ve, the moment when Sora had exhausted him or even when the headache first teased at him with all the coy familiarity of an addiction, Vanitas should’ve  _ known. _

But Sora’s reappearance had brought back all the old denial and self-hate, the idea that maybe he could go back to  _ before.  _

“Can you make it by yourself?” Ven asked, barely a whisper. Ven knew what one of these headaches was like. He’d helped Vanitas threw more of them than either of them could remember together.

The answer was no. The reality was no. The truth was  _ no,  _ Vanitas couldn’t.

He dug his nails into Ven’s forearm anyways, then let go.

He ignored Sora, watching him with bright worried eyes, with  _ Ven’s  _ eyes, those fucking sky-eyes. He ignored Ven’s subsequent tired and irritated sigh. He ignored the way his hands shook. 

With more effort than it should ever take, Vanitas finally made it to his room. Before he shut the door to make a beeline for whatever form of relief he could find, he heard Sora’s pained question. 

_ “What’s wrong with him?” _

Vanitas was so tired of that question.

He was in bed, stripped to only his boxer briefs and with all the layers of blankets he preferred weighing him down when he remembered the cigarettes he’d left in his pants’ pocket. He hadn’t taken anything, even though there were a few options scattered on top his dresser that might help, but it took too much effort to crawl down the length of his bed to find them, let alone to even move in a position he could smoke in.

So Vanitas lingered in the threshold between a pain too much to even think through, and too little energy to do anything about it. It wasn’t Sora’s fault, or even Ven’s for triggering the sharp panic that had brought it down. It was just Vanitas’. 

Vanitas didn’t know how long he stayed there, thoughts lost nowhere and mind anchored only on the ebb and flow as his bones felt simultaneously hollow but lined with electricity. Eventually, his door creaked open, casting a square of light on his floor. Vanitas barely cracked an eye to see it, wincing and squeezing it shut again. He didn’t know who had opened the door, but he recognized the tread that crossed his room.

Ven carefully kneeled beside Vani’s bed, knowing that if he even sat on it, it might cause another wave to recede like the harkening of a flood.

“Vani,” Ven said, again in that whisper more like air. Ven was so good at that. “I brought you water. Do you want your medicine?”

Vanitas didn’t move. He didn’t  _ want  _ it. By now, he knew Ven’s sighs better than the back of his hand. A tiny sound of round capsules landing on his bedside table was the only other sound before Ven stood and left.

The door closed, and with a sound closer to a sob-stricken gasp, Vanitas grabbed the pills and swallowed it dry.

It just wasn’t fair, no matter how Vanitas tried. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer than all the others, and a bit more insight into the emotional journeys each of them have taken, distinct from each other (loneliness, resentment, emptiness). 
> 
> “I know you’re tired.  
> I know this is not  
> where you thought you’d be.”  
> -Joe Wilkins

Ven woke up slowly.

He sat up and scrubbed at his face and up through his bangs before blearily peering at his phone. He thumbed some sleep dust from his eyes and double checked his email to make sure he _really_ had class before groaning and flopping back down. His blinds filtered morning light, and in its rays he saw stray dust motes swayed by steady air conditioning. He could sink into his bed, he thought. He could disappear entirely. No pile of work sitting in his bag that he didn’t even have the decency to pretend to leave on his desk; no brothers who kept running him to the fine mill; no need to ever get up again.

That’s when he finally remembered Sora.

“Oh, _shit—”_ Ven scrambled out of bed like a match had been lit under him, covers falling everywhere and his phone nearly escaping his grip to tumble down and possibly shatter, knowing Ven’s shit luck. He took care not to run, in case Vanitas was still asleep, but Ven hastened to the living room, shoving blond unstyled hair out of his face to see.

The couch was empty, covers in a disarray.

But in the kitchen, Ven heard cooking, and he breathed easier as he noticed Sora’s bag unzipped and spilling its contents out, various sundry lingering around where he’d slept.

In disbelief, he crept closer, floor chilly under his feet. Sora was wide awake and bustling around, some kind of breakfast made and coffee percolating. There was tea, if the little tag hanging out of a mug that belonged to Vanitas was any indication, and though Ven could vaguely remember he had bought some ages ago he had no idea where Sora would’ve unearthed it. 

In fact, their entire counter space was covered in everything from their cupboards.

“Uh, Sora?” Ven said, wondering if maybe he was dreaming Sora being in his home and turning things upside down. He didn’t dream of their siblings as often, but sometimes, when he was sad, they’d turn up as memories. “Whhhhat’re you doing?”

“Ven!” Sora literally perked up like a puppy. Ven felt his heart swell three times its size. God, he’d forgotten how sweet Sora could be, unabashed and unashamed in his affection. Living with Vanitas had taken its toll, clearly. Sora bounced over from the stove like a rabbit, half jumping onto the breakfast bar separating them, balancing his weight on his folded elbows. He was wide awake, bright eyed and eager, despite his clothes being sleep wrinkled. “You’re _finally_ up, I thought you’d sleep forever.”

“Wish I could,” Ven said, scrubbing more sleep and disbelief from his eyes and trying to hold back a yawn. “So… why’re you turning our kitchen upside down?”

Sora shrugged, turning back to the stove when something popped on it. “I couldn’t find anything.”

Well, Vanitas had arranged it to his liking, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to play nice about sharing. Ven bit his lip, and decided very firmly to not get between that.

“Where’s Vani?” Sora asked over his shoulder, making Ven side-eye him, and Ven moved into the kitchen proper to snag a cup from where it lay upside on their counter. 

“Asleep, probably,” Ven thought, or just as likely curled up and lost in some fog. He grabbed the pot, easing it out so the programmed drip would stop, and poured generously into the cup for Vanitas, adding the usual minimal sugar. 

“Huh,” Sora murmured, implications hiding by the dozens in his tone. Ven frowned. He felt like he was lying to Sora. Hiding Vanitas’ flare ups and condition under misdirected words and suggestions. Sure, Ven hadn’t planned on really telling Sora every detail, but hiding it felt wrong, as if it was something to be ashamed of. Ven thumbed the edge of the cup, staring sightlessly into the black coffee. In its center was a lighter shade of haze and some lingering bubbles that popped with the steam. 

Again, Ventus was hiding things from people he loved for Vanitas.

“Is he gonna want to eat?” Sora asked, shaking Ven from his thoughts.

“Huh? Uh,” he considered this. “I don’t know. Depends. Let me go ask him.” Ven tried not to feel bad about how short his words were. Lying wasn’t really an easy thing for him, though it was disturbingly simple to pretend like he was in a play, acting truths he desperately wished were real.

Scrape the ugly away, paint it with something white and pretty. Slap cheeks and bite lips and maybe use some eyedrops, pretend like your insomnia was because of regular student worries and not because your brother stayed up til 3 A.M. vomiting his guts out. Ignore the wary glances from friends and the way things never quite add up, pretend to be just a shade more naive than you are.

He left Sora to his curiosity and cooking and stopped in front of Vanitas’ door to breathe in deep. He knocked, and walked in.

No fucking surprise, Ven thought, staring blankly at the lump in the middle of the bed. All the cheer and light feelings Sora had breathed into his life fell back down, like the other shoe dropping, a sinking familiarity in his gut bringing him to earth once more. 

So what if someone had made breakfast for him, or thought to brew coffee even if Ven didn’t drink it. _So what_ if Ven didn’t wake up to an empty dining room or to no one willing to smile and say _good morning._

Vanitas was still curled up in pain, and Sora was temporary.

Disturbed on the beside table was a pill bottle knocked over, and Ven didn’t even bother to say anything, kneeling before it to set the coffee down and gather the pills back together. He checked the bottle, poured them in, capped it and set it aside.

He didn’t even notice what he was doing until Vanitas spoke.

“Neurotic.”

Ven blinked, glancing over to find a single gold eye peeking through to glare, and Ven looked back to find he’d arranged them all in a neat orderly line from tallest to shortest, color coded next. 

“Normal, neat,” Ven corrected, words falling flat between them with the weight of all their mutual disappointments. He sighed, gripping the edge of the nightstand too tight, knuckles white. He was so tired. “I brought coffee, and Sora’s making breakfast.”

Vanitas sniffed, but didn’t speak. Ven frowned, and finally looked at him properly.

Bloodshot eyes, face pale, lips too, even. He tried to remember what all Vanitas had eaten, and found it lacking.

“Give me your hands,” Ven said tersely. Vanitas tugged the covers tighter, but didn’t protest when Ven fished them out.

Nothing new, but he’d been clenching them so tight that blood barely dared to peek back into pressure-white skin. Sora was tanner than Vanitas, now, despite them being born the same. Ven let go and Vanitas despondently tucked himself back in, eyes closing.

“Bad day?” Ven whispered.

Vanitas didn’t nod, but that was answer enough.

“Do you want to eat?” Ven tried again, and Vanitas just dragged the covers tighter. Ven pursed his lips, then rocked on the balls of his feet to stand up in one easy movement. “I’ll tell him you still have a headache and not to bother you, but can you do us both a favor and not be your usual charming self?”

Vanitas grumbled something that sounded like _eat shit, asshole,_ but Ven didn’t stick around to clarify.

“I’m going to class,” he said at the door, his back to Vanitas’ room. Nothing else came from him, and Ven tried not to let the disappointment sting. 

Stepping back into the kitchen felt like all that sallow thin energy exploded, Sora’s face literally lighting up as he caught sight of Ven. Without his permission, Ven relaxed, shoulders falling loose from a tightness he hadn’t even noticed, hands unclenching and brow unfurrowing. If Sora noticed, he did Ven the favor of not mentioning it.

“Here,” Sora said, handing a plate to Ven, where delicious, if haphazardly arranged food was waiting. “If you need me to grab groceries or something let me know. I’ll go nuts being stuck inside all day.”

“Tell me about it,” Ven muttered, taking his plate and the additional one Sora handed him to the table. As he walked back into the kitchen for utensils and cups, it hit Ven in a sad kind of way that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had breakfast at the table, or even with someone. Before, he and Vanitas had grudgingly shared meals, since it was stupid to cook for each other then retreat to their respective rooms, and because as twins they’d grown up sharing collective spaces anyways. But Vanitas began to miss meals, or take too long to come out, or would even end up eating hours later, and Ven had given up sometime around a year ago.

His eyes stung, and he laughed quietly. Funny, how you didn’t know what was gone until it was given back. 

“Ven?”

Ven glanced up, “Hmm?”

Sora was standing beside the chair Vanitas normally sat at, hand on the back of it as if the wood might burn him if he lingered too long, watching Ven. “You okay?”

“What?” Ven asked, and realized his voice was kind of watery. “Oh, yeah, yeah of course I am, I just,” his breath hitched, and he brought his wrist up to his eye to catch the tear drop that threatened there.

Sora didn’t bother to sit, coming around to wrap Ven in a hug. Ven stilled, lips trembling, brows half-drawn up like they’d forgotten what expression was normally made when you cried.

“A bad dream?” Sora asked, voice rumbly with Ven’s ear pressed against his chest, an excuse and a kindness wrapped all in one. 

“Yeah,” Ven’s voice broke even on that one word, and another was too many, and he tried to keep it down so Vanitas wouldn’t hear.

“Do you remember?” Sora asked, curling over Ven, as if it hide him. “When mom would hug us after nightmares?”

That felt likes ages and ages ago, a kind of memory reserved for only nostalgia, like old Christmases and other holidays. He nodded, and forced it all down. This wasn’t the time or place. Ven had classes, and he was going to be late soon. Sora didn’t come visit them just to patch Ven back together because he felt so lonely sometimes he could cry.

“Don’t tell anyone,” Sora whispered, affecting a secretive tone, “but sometimes I miss it.”

Ven laughed, bright and watery and somehow more free than ever before. “So do I.”

 

* * *

 

The sound of a glass cup slamming against the table echoed through the apartment.

Vanitas shot up from his bed, heart racing and anxiety washing over him like a torrential flood, staring at his bedroom door with quickened breaths as he tried to see through the blood-rush overtaking him. He was dizzy with it, chest fluttering under his bunched sheets and fingers curling painfully tight into them. His room was nearly pitch black, the only hint of light a thin line along the bottom of his door. 

It took a long, long minute of unbroken air conditioning whirling through that kept the apartment perfectly cold, white noise disrupted by nothing else, for Vanitas to realize he was in the wrong time. Ven hated it this cold, but it helped Vanitas regulate his own body temperature through all his weighted blankets and own fucked up homeostasis. The realization settled on him with all the weight of a feather, a owlish blink of understanding that he thought should have been amusing, that he even quirked a smile at, but was nowhere near approaching humorous.

Slowly, sluggishly, his breathing returned to normal, but he stayed in his half-bent pose in bed, staring sightless at the unusual wooden panes of his door. 

Even after he remade the connections that he wasn’t _home,_ laughable as that term was, and that only Ven and Vanitas lived in this apartment, he still struggled to sit back from his half-wild caged in position.

“Pathetic,” he whispered, but he’d tried for a sneering declaration, and failing even in this was insult to injury. “Stupid,” he added on in a half-laugh, and finally, _finally,_ he could move, curling his knees to his chest to rub his forehead against it, back and forth, a side to side rhythmic motion he’d always found comfort in. His thin fingers ached, twisting rivulets in the sheets around his shins, but hugging himself together was all the comfort he could afford.

He wanted powerfully, then, the black smoke in his lungs. The way it was warm going in and out and exhaled like smog. How the sick of it could press against his insides and make him feel an awareness that wasn’t from pain. The harder he pressed his eyes against his knees, the more multi-color stars he saw burst into life, and that’s when he finally remembered that his pants had his cigarettes. 

Relief poured out in a broken sigh that was more sob than not, and he managed to crawl down the length of his bed, paw around in the dark until his pinkie knuckle smacked into the metal of his belt with a hiss, and extract the carton. He crawled back into the suffocating mass of pillows and blankets, slapped around his bedside table for his lighter until he realized Ven had shoved it into his drawer —not to mention, _oops,_ that cup of coffee long since cold and untouched— and fumbled for a stick with trembling hands. It took a few tries, but he managed to catch a light and inhale it, sighing immediately with psychological relief.

As he burnt the stick down, he tried to weigh the worth of half a heart-attack as a means for getting out of that fog-state, or if maybe other methods might do the trick. All pointless wondering, since he’d never remember shit while he was there anyways. 

Ven hated it when he smoked in his room rather than the balcony, but Ven could go shove a stick up his ass for all Vanitas cared right now.

And that was when, incredibly belatedly, Vanitas remembered Sora was here.

“Aw, shit,” he cursed, words slurred and lazy, a token effort. Fuck, what time was it? Where was his phone? Did he even have the goddamn thought to charge the thing before he decided to fucking lose it?

It wasn’t on his bedside table, and anywhere else it could be required far too much effort than he was willing to expend to find it. Likely in his other pant’s pocket, but Vanitas was in the mind to smoke one more before trying to brave the day.

Then, he did something he rarely did.

For just a moment, for just that tiny bit of his day, he let go.

He imagined he didn’t have to get up. That he could sink and sink and sink. That nothing would stop him from drifting down into the depths of undisturbed waters. That he could feel sunlight barely breaking through the surface, warm in just the right spots. That everything felt the right temperature, that he wasn’t burning up at any given second. That nobody would come looking or calling for him. That he didn’t even exist outside of _right now._ That everything had come to an eternal grinding halt, the rings of Saturn never inching another bit forward. That perhaps he’d been devoured whole and never felt a single thing. That, best of all, he felt _nothing._

It was his most dangerous habit. His worst vice. His one dream.

He exhaled with every molecule of himself that he could, as if he was bidding it _au revoir_ with a two-fingered salute, a final _fuck you!_ to the world at large. 

Good-bye brother, who always made him feel guilty.

Good-bye pain, you son of a bitch.

Good-bye disappointments, sad he ever knew them.

Good-bye father, piece of shit.

Then he held his breath as long as he could, longer even, until it burned, and because he wasn’t a masochist he’d finally inhale raggedly, coughing up a lung because doing that particular exercise after smoking wasn’t the brightest goddamn idea.

Of course, like an idiot, he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone.

A tentative knock at his door reminded him Sora even existed, but he was too busy halfway to dying _—finally—_ for him to shout a raspy ‘fuck off!’

So Sora walked in, coughed himself on the accumulated smoke, and made that wonderful pinched face that exact same way Ven did.

“Great,” Vanitas managed through a hoarse throat. 

Sora’s brows screwed together as he waved through the air. “What? You dying because you decided to hotbox your room?”

Vanitas wheezed on a derisive laugh. “You only hotbox with pot.”

Sora seemed affronted by this correction. “Like I know! Point is it _stinks.”_

“Don’t come into my room just to bitch then,” Vanitas sneered, digging for his ashtray in his drawer and stubbing his cigarette out since he’d wasted most of it while musing. He replaced it, watching Sora’s conflicted expression the whole time. “What? Got something to say?”

Sora grew pensive, cogwheels in his mind obviously churning as he thought that over, and Vanitas scoffed. He shoved the blankets off, considering how he felt. The nicotine had eased a lot of the initial anxiety, and only the usual aches and pains were there. Better than yesterday morning, then, since he wasn’t keeled over and immobile. He shooed Sora further back so Vanitas could pretend getting up from his too-low bed didn’t require more out of him than was normal. He tried to hide his breathlessness by stumbling over to his closet, pawing through it distractedly before realizing he didn’t actually relish the thought of anything else touching his hyper-sensitive skin.

A pajamas day it was then, though his boxers hardly counted. 

Sora spoke as Vanitas passed him on the way to the door. “It’s like… twelve.”

“S’that so,” Vanitas said, breezing through and chewing on his lip. Shit, that’s pretty late. Not that Vanitas really had plans, but he didn’t need Sora’s unnecessary comments. He stepped into the bathroom and shut the door on Sora, who actually yelped when his nose crashed into it. Damn, had he never heard of personal space?

Vanitas quickly washed up and relieved himself, scowling at his reflection after. Bloodshot eyes, pale face. He looked pretty shitty, even by his standards. For half a second, he considered doing something to hide it, like eye drops or something, but decided it wasn’t worth it. Sora could mind his damn business.

He pulled the door open with little warning and was disappointed Sora wasn’t leaning against it or anything, so he could fall. 

“So?” Vanitas demanded, making his way to the kitchen. There was a mess around the sofa that seemed incredibly impossible for half a day’s worth from one person, and on the table was the fucking _glass cup._

Instantly, his temper snapped.

He clenched his fists. He was better than that. Losing it over something Sora didn’t even know, couldn’t even begin to fathom was an issue. He forgot how much Ven changed to accommodate him, back when the littlest things would make Vanitas flinch and Ven immediately colorless with rueful sorrow. 

He took a forceful breath in with gritted teeth, and tried to affect normalcy as he wrenched the refrigerator open. 

“So I heard you coughing,” Sora continued, words easy. Maybe Vanitas’ little trip down memory lane had gone unnoticed. “You sounded kinda like you were dying. Ya know, like a cat and a hairball?”

“Shut up,” Vanitas rolled his eyes, knowing Sora was exaggerating. He dug the orange juice free and poured a cup, never mind the taste of mint still in his mouth, and pulled the wet grounds out of the coffee maker to dump. He set it to brew with new grounds and water, chugged his orange juice without pulling a single muscle in his face, and left that in the sink for Ven. Which reminded him of his cup in his room. 

He walked back to it, and Sora naturally followed at his heels.

“Didn’t know you smoked,” Sora said, in that tone that meant it was more question than statement. How fucking annoying. Why he didn’t he just come out and ask it instead of beating around the bush? 

Vanitas rolled his shoulders to try and ease some of the hot tension there. “Didn’t know you couldn’t mind your damn business.

“Hey,” Sora said, clearly offended.

Vanitas slid his foot under the heap of folded blankets on his bed and kicked it, which laid it out mostly neat given its weight. He crossed over to the blinds to open them and crack a window, grabbed his cup and ashtray, and tried to walk past Sora only to have him block the doorway determinedly.

Vanitas aggressively sighed and fixed him with a look. “Sora, you came into my place and bitch about everything I do, you think I’m gonna lay in your lap, let you braid my hair, and catch up like _Venty-Wenty_ loves to do?” He nodded with added insult on Ven’s hated nickname, affecting a sickly sweet tone. He lifted his too-full coffee cup to be dangerously waving around like that and his ashtray to indicate them. “This is me. I didn’t walk into your fuckin’ place and start on your bird’s nest and the way you still sound like you’re twelve, so lay the fuck off.”

Sora fell back, hurt flashing across his face, but Vanitas wasn’t wrong and he didn’t care that forcibly nudging Sora aside with his ankle was probably even more ‘mean.’ He made the trek to the kitchen, dumped the cup out in the sink and the glass tray in the trash with three practiced taps. 

He wasn’t followed immediately, and it actually took as long as his coffee to finish for Sora to emerge, frowning. It was then that he and Vanitas actually looked the most similar, with their heavy brow and deep-set eyes. 

Vanitas didn’t bother to talk first, pouring his cup and stirring in the sugar that was never enough, letting the rhythmic clink of the spoon fill the silence. It’d be comforting, almost, if Vanitas’ gut wasn’t twisting itself in knots.

 _Fuck_ Sora and the puppy-dog eyes Vanitas knew with dead certainty were being leveled as his back.

“You’re right,” Sora said, and Vanitas turned around to find, to his surprise, that Sora was staring at the floor, no pitiful look to be found. Just a contemplative one. “I’m sorry, I was kind of judgey huh?”

Vanitas snorted.

“Okay, _really_ judgey,” Sora amended. “I didn’t mean to be like that, I just…” he shrugged one shoulder, a lazy movement reminiscent of Vanitas’ himself, “I wanted to know more and was kinda worried, and didn’t want to jump the gun asking you everything.”

Vanitas lifted a single unimpressed brow. “So you comment on everything I do instead?”

“To be fair, you really did sound like you were dying,” Sora grinned, the shit-eating charming asshole.

“Whatever,” Vanitas waved the issue away, but he heard Sora’s heavy steps bound over the wood and knew to anticipate the coming hug. 

It was still nice, weirdly enough. Warm, unfamiliar but the same nonetheless. Sora hugged like he had a piece of his heart he wanted to give away, and that hadn’t changed.

Vanitas allowed him to be an annoying leech for a few seconds before snarling at him to get off, and even then all Sora did was jump onto the counter dangerously close to his coffee, open a cupboard beside him, and precede to piss Vanitas off by proudly showing off the fuckery he’d made of Vanitas’ spice cabinet.

It was kinda nice, actually, to not be treated like broken glass handled by bare hands.

**Author's Note:**

> A loving shoutout to cygna-hime, who wrote the fic ([(i don't need you to) Worry for Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/501160)) that started all of this. Please give it a read!
> 
> tumblr @ oath-breaker  
> twitter @ _oathbreaker


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